Just this mild mid-October mid-afternoon moment,
A few yellow-gold leaves swaying,
Touching the stillness, testing it,
And glowing in the most exquisite light.
An azure sky that could have been painted
By some Renaissance master,
Inviting change to enter eternity’s door,
Mingling the heavens with our soil.
If the choice was mine I’d choose this moment
As my forever moment…
I’d make this perfection my last.
In the meantime, I’ll extend my stay
A moment longer, a moment longer,
And saturate the canvas with gratitude.
Month: October 2024
On St. James and the Camino
St. James’ body on a boat of stone
Set sail over a sea of stars,
Held aloft by an angel and spirited to Spain,
To Padrón, the stone pillar still exists,
Part of the main mast of the stone boat
And a miraculous assertion in stone.
St. James, with staff and scallop shells,
Traversing fields of stars, as in heaven.
What is more miraculous
Than a legend become pilgrimage?
From person to person, spirit to spirit,
Whether they know or not feel it,
For over a thousand years
A trace of his faith has crossed their faces
And the road to Santiago opened
To what is most frail in us, most hopeful.
October Picture Gallery
My ash and walnut trees are dotted with gold
The light takes a step into a garden shed
Late sunflowers burst into blue
Like the eyes of a rustic sun
Reeds gone to seed blur the lakeside
And poplars shimmer in a stream
When leaves all gust as one
There’s a scream on the face of change
With strewn leaves and sticks
Swirling in intricate interweaving lines
October’s hollows are haunted by owls
Like a skeleton answering a telephone
A mossy statue in rain with red roses
Replete with sad beauty and without meaning
What Sweet Thoughts were Thine
RIP to my friend John Barlow
We met in creative writing class
He was Blake and Shelley
I was Coleridge and Keats
The vanity of poets in their youth
After class we’d go to the third floor
Of Memorial Hall and share a joint
Then we’d go for coffee or drinks
And discuss poetry all night
I saw him as a man and bird
With ever so copious a song
And profuse strains of art
As we danced with creativity
Mortality and beauty
Living only for those visions
That enrich vision and outlive us all
Salvatore Ala 